~*~
Will proudly smiled at Erva acknowledging the applauding crowd with a serious nod after her first piece concluded, but then began to study the pianoforte in earnest. She closed her eyes as her back straightened. The mob hushed as if they were at church as soon as she swept her hands back on the keys then began to play the saddest melody he’d ever heard. She didn’t sing. No, this was a pianoforte concerto, but he’d never heard anything like the agonizing song. People were too aghast to say anything, for the tune was also lovely beyond compare.
“Oh,” Will heard Lady Anne whisper, then touched her hand to her heart.
Even the contemptible Winny had stopped her incessant sneering and stared at Erva. She was beauty defined. Erva’s dark honey eyes opened from time to time to watch the keys of the pianoforte, as if her hands were no longer part of her body, but rather an extension of the music. The piece deepened, slowed, then lifted, and sung of dark nights, longing, and loneliness. This music was made from a heart, a heart that had known pain, the kind he’d endured.
Was Erva the composer? Even if she were not, the fact that she knew the music to match his soul made him want to...Lord, one part of him wanted to tear her from the pianoforte to stop the anguish. But it was so breathtaking, he knew he wouldn’t dare halt the music.
The melody, though, slowed and stopped. Erva’s hands remained on the keys, indicating a coming sonata. Soon, she began the second movement, this one cheerful and eager. Joyful even. Yet it matched the first movement in tone, for there was a dark undercurrent that had him, no, the whole crowd, glued to her hands, her svelte body swaying with every measure. She looked up at him as the second movement stopped. Then she winked and her fingers flew.
This time there were gasps from the crowd. The music swept up and down the pianoforte in a magical way. This movement was elated, needing, desirous. Again, so like him. But this was music for the way she made him feel. His heart thudded loudly, and he felt it all the more impacting against his ribs. He tried to swallow away his passions, but no one in the crowd was doing any better. Men loosened their cravats. Women’s dresses’ pins popped, and most of the ladies of the crowd clutched at their chests or lips. There wasn’t a sound other than Erva’s playing. Most stared at her now with their mouths agape.
Will made sure his own lips weren’t ajar. He stared at her again as the music settled into something similar to the second movement. Yet so...raw. God, he wanted her. He had heard of women who flung themselves at composers, and he’d never thought himself to be like one of them. But there he was, beside himself with need for her.
With two last chords, the music was over and Erva stood to a completely quiet mob.
She started to stride toward him, but then a crowd outside the manor began to cheer. The windows had been opened, and Will clearly heard the proof that his Erva was a musical genius. Finally, the persons inside the house erupted with their own applause. It was deafening when Erva reached him.
He held her hand and leaned into her ear to whisper, “I’m sorry, my darling, but I’m going to steal you from the banquet now.” Leaning away, he caught her grinning up at him.
“It’s about time.”
When the people started to gather around him, he simply picked up Erva and said over his shoulder, “She must leave now. Her, er, fingers need rest.”
He felt Erva’s giggle against his hands as he hastened out of the house. The crowd outside was his own soldiers, and the instant they spotted him with Erva in his arms, they began to clap and holler even louder, huzzahing even. People rushed after him, calling out to Erva, yelling their bravos.
His footmen raced after his carriage that skidded to a stop as Will sprinted toward it. The whole while he felt Erva giggling against his hands and arms, his chest. She had her arms twined around his neck, and Will could hardly think of anything else. He almost threw her into the carriage on the bench seat, then slammed the door shut on the roaring crowd of soldiers mixed with the upper crest of New York’s society—all cheering her, adoring her, wanting more. Perhaps he was being selfish taking her away, but he couldn’t help himself.
The driver made the horses cantor, and Erva clutched onto his red coat to hold on. He carefully placed his hands over hers.
“By God, that was the most beautiful music.”
“Did I play it well? I haven’t played that piece since I was an undergrad.”
“Pardon? An undergrad?”
Her eyes widened, even in the dim light of the carriage Will could clearly make that out.
“I, um, did you like it?”
“Very much.” He nodded and found her waist with his hands. Lord, he wanted to pull her inside of him if he could. But he couldn’t forget that word. “Do you mean you were an undergraduate?”
She took in a shaky breath. “Where I come from—” her hands retracted from him, and he wished he hadn’t asked. She was obviously uncomfortable, but she continued. “Okay, where I come from women can attend universities.”
He found one of her hands and squeezed it. “That’s divine. Where did you attend university? Prussia? What does oh kay mean, by the way?”
She clenched her eyes closed, grimacing.
“I keep asking things that are making you uneasy. I must apologize.”
She reached up and latched onto his coat again. “No, please don’t apologize.” Her amber eyes dipped to her hands and lingered there. Seeing the pale skin of her neck, where her pulse beat, he wished to kiss her right there. He was just about to when she said, “There’s so much I need to tell you.” Her tone was more serious than he wanted.
It seemed she was refusing to meet his eyes. He hooked a finger under her chin then gently lifted until she gazed upon him again.
“I’m thrilled you were educated and not merely by tutors as most other ladies of England are. Do you worry that I’d think less of you for it?” That was what he guessed by her nervousness. Ah, but what an inspiration Erva was, educated at university no less. Other English ladies would soon follow her lead, he hoped, since already a few in Russia and France had as high of an education. The nagging thought, like a gnat buzzing about his head, came through then. What if she were a spy? Only, not American, but French? French intelligence was impressive, and they were everywhere throughout the colonies. He also knew Britain fought to keep up with their invasive intelligence networks. Further, France openly employed women. In fact there was the famous Chevalier d'Eon, whom no one knew whether he was a he or a she.
Erva exhaled quickly. “Yes, I just—and I know—but you need to know—”
He was flooded with relief, feeling it calm his muscles through his back and neck. She was, indeed, nervous that he would be a prejudiced, backwards man about her education, probably like so many of his countrymen. “Darling, I know you are intelligent, and the fact that you are educated makes me happy for you. I doubt with your clever mind you’d be content without a degree of some kind.”
“A PhD, I’ve earned my PhD.”
He blinked. “A Philosophiæ Doctorate?”
She nodded, her eyes wide and dark. Will doubted she knew that she clutched at him a bit too fiercely. He saw her open fear, gauging him for his reaction, waiting for him to judge her.
“Lord, I’m a lucky man.” He hoped to sound tender. “Such an educated lady and so talented, and you’re here with me.”
She batted her long lashes. He wasn’t too sure if tears started to form in her eyes.
“Oh my dear,” he said, but then she kissed him. Hard and desperate. Her lips moved quickly, her tongue in his mouth before he could take a breath. He reciprocated her kiss with his own. God, he needed her, loving it when she wrapped her arms around his neck. All night long desire had poured through his too tight body, but now he was consumed with it. Drunk. And for a blissful moment he was happy. His heart ached as much as his body, as she kissed her way to his ear.
“Damn it,” she whispered.
She was trying to untie his cra
vat.
“Let me,” he said, then with one hand loosened his tie.
Immediately, she kissed down his neck. Not far, since his collar was utterly no help at all. Still, he growled as she bit his neck.
“Oh Lord,” he groaned.
She reached back up to kiss his lips again, which he devoured. Like a starving man, he clung to her, pushing his tongue in her mouth until she parried with her own. He clutched at her waist, pulling her nearer. But it was difficult to get her much closer without...Inspiration struck! He shifted his hold to her hips, lifted and surprising him, she opened her legs. She sat astride his hips, and he found her hot little center against his raging erection.
She swayed when the carriage made a corner and made him close his eyes at the pleasure that burst through his body as she pressed against him.
“We keep meeting like this,” she whispered.
He softly chuckled, remembering the first time their bodies had met and collided in an altogether wonderful way in a carriage. He kissed her again. Her lips danced with his. Their breaths mingled. Deciding to finally take a chance, he slowly lifted one of his hands. Before he made much progress, Erva clutched onto his wrists, then raised both of them until his palms were holding her full breasts. She swayed into him again, as she urged his hands with her own to caress her. With his thumbs he stroked against her nipples, poking through her stays and dress.
She moaned and rocked into him once more. Liquid heat shot through his body, making his cock even harder. He rubbed again and again around and over her little nubs. Each time he did, she moved against him. Reaching for her neckline, he tried to extract her breast from her dress, but she was wedged into the damned thing a bit too tightly. Frustrated, he leaned forward and sucked her nipple through her clothes.
She mewled and gripped onto his hair.
Then the carriage came to a quick stop. Erva’s body leaned away from him, but he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. Glancing at her, he caught her expression. Lord, he hoped it was appreciation he saw, that she admired him as much as he did her. Quickly, he asked, “Will you—will you come to my chamber with me?”
He didn’t wait for her response, but kissed her. Rapturously, she slid her tongue into his mouth again, and he took that as permission. He parted from their kiss when the footman opened the door to the carriage, then after a bit of maneuvering carried her out.
“I can walk, you know.” Erva laughed.
“I fear if I release you, then none of this will be real, that this is a figment of my imagination.” He was surprised he’d been so honest, revealed that much to her, but it was the truth of why he wouldn’t let her go.
A servant opened the door for him, and he caught Paul’s surprised face in his periphery, but swept by the lot of the people in the foyer. He took the stairs two at a time, when Erva whispered, “Are you sure you’re not a figment of my imagination?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Do I—” he swung into his chamber and closed the door with a kick. “Do I meet the lady’s expectations?”
“Oh no, not at all, my lord.”
He set her feet down on the ground, feeling something wrench through and around his heart. God, could he have read her wrong?
She lifted her hands to his face and held him in place with her honey eyes. “You exceed all my expectations and then some. You’re—”
This time he lunged for her lips, not letting her finish. He gripped around her waist and pulled her to his body. The rustle from her silk seemed too loud in his dark room, but soon enough he felt her pull at his loosened cravat and finally tear it from him. He laughed as pieces of white fluttered to the ground.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said.
“I wasn’t really.”
He softly chuckled.
She reached up on her toes and kissed him back. His body ached to have her closer, but already they were as close as two people could be...while clothed. He let out a breath, realizing he could take off her clothes as she was already adeptly doing, unfastening each golden frog button with her delicate hands as she kissed down his neck.
“Darling, do you have a cushion?”
She stopped and gazed up at him with one brow arched. “What are we doing with a cushion? Just one cushion? Where are you going to put it?”
He laughed at her deliciously wicked mind. “I meant for your dress’s pins. Or are you sewn in? Shall I retrieve scissors?”
She blinked. “You know how to undress a woman, don’t you?”
However playfully she’d meant the words, they’d come out sounding more tense than he would have liked.
He swallowed. “I—I was married. Did you know that?”
She nodded, and Will realized her shoulders tensed.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done...this...”
“How long?”
The remembrance of his wife came back to crush him until his bones ached, felt fractured multiple times. He hadn’t remembered making love to his wife, but of her rushing outside naked in the middle of the day, begging the chef to make love to her. She’d forced herself on him, while the old man had tried to get away, but she’d been terribly strong, and before Will had caught her, she’d grabbed at the chef’s hand and tried to put it between her legs. Will had had to wrestle her to the ground and take her from the man who had started to cry, more than likely feeling so sorry for the mania Julia possessed. Placing her over his shoulder, Will had tried not to notice the whole cooking crew staring as his wife screamed she wanted rabbit for dinner.
“A very long time, Erva,” he whispered, suddenly not sure he could perform what his body ached to do. He took a step away from the beauty before him, feeling too old for her, too worn, too battered.
“I—I shouldn’t have asked,” she said quickly. “It’s none of my business.”
The back of his legs found a couch and he fell into it with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Of course it’s your business, darling. I was planning to make love to you. You have a right to know.”
She blinked and followed him to the couch, but stood a tad out of his grasp. His room held enough moonlight he could make out the line of her cheek, her delicate nose, her swollen lips. Lord, she was beautiful. But like so many things in this life, she was beyond him.
“You aren’t now?”
“Pardon?”
“You aren’t planning to make love to me now?” Her voice shook.
He sighed. Lord, was that hope there on her incredibly lovely visage? Did she really want him?
“You extended to me the courtesy of honesty. I think I should do the same,” he began, but then found words extremely difficult over the tightness in his throat. He cleared it. “I have a reputation, Erva.”
“I know.”
“Do you? You know they call me a scoundrel?”
“Scoundrel?” Her hands fluttered over her heart where they curled in, as if protecting her from him, his past.
“It—it started so long ago, after my marriage, after my wife—”
Erva took a step back. He winced as pain speared through his chest as if that little movement had plunged a sword through him.
After another step away, she whispered, “You—you had a mistress when you were married, didn’t you?”
He laughed bitterly. “Ah, so mayhap you have heard the rumors? What a pig I was for taking a mistress when I was happily married. Even when my marriage was less than ideal, I still chased after women, isn’t that right? Tell me, in the version you heard, did I bed an opera singer or a dancer? Or both? There is one version where I have both simultaneously, no less.” He barked at her in anger, and she took another step away from him. It pained him, but perhaps it was for the best that she turned away from a wretch like him.
“So...so...so you didn’t take a mistress?”
He didn’t answer, for words had become agonizing to sound
out.
“But—but men of this time are allowed to have mistresses. Allowed isn’t a great choice of words, but you know what I mean.”
“No.” He stood suddenly and strode toward her. “I don’t. Nor did I understand what it meant back then, for I would never betray my wife like that. Never.”
“Okay, so you didn’t take a mistress.”
“What does this oh kay mean? Is it German?”
She shook her head and smiled, instantly diffusing his anger. His shoulders stooped.
“It must have been difficult for both you and your wife to have heard the rumors.”
“She never heard them. She died before they were started.”
Erva cocked her head to the side.
Before she could ask any further questions, Will said, “I—I’ve never told a soul what you are about to hear. Paul knows it, of course. Only because he was there. I’ve never talked to him about it, other than once, when he asked if he could take out an ad against the rumors. I told him not to.”
“Why?”
Walking backwards, he found himself on the couch again. Being so close to her had made him crave to touch her. God, he still wanted her. But soon enough she would know his secret and mayhap run from him.
Bracing for such a reaction, he tried to steady his voice. “The rumors were spread by my wife’s mother as a reaction to the news of her daughter’s death.”
Erva timidly came to stand close to him. Too close, he thought, because with everything in him he wanted to reach out and snag her onto his lap.
“By the way,” she said softly, “I’m so sorry for your wife passing away. I know it’s been about a decade, but I’m sorry nonetheless.”
“Thank you.”
“I—I don’t understand why your mother-in-law would start the rumors. Your wife died during childbirth. I—I’m sorry for being so blunt.”
He inhaled sharply. “That was the first rumor my mother-in-law started.”
“That your wife died in childbirth?”
He nodded.
“Then how did she—God, I’m sorry. I’m grilling you.”
“Grilling me? I don’t feel grilled. But in answer to your question,” he swallowed, feeling his past, Julia, come crashing into the room. She was in all the shadows encompassing the chamber. An eerie familiarity he never knew whether he should warm to or run from.
After he’d told Julia’s mother what had happened, he’d never told another soul the truth. Never even whispered it or retold it to Paul. Nonetheless he felt compelled to tell Erva everything, as if the shadows were coaxing him to do so. “I believe my wife was pregnant, yes,” he croaked. “She hadn’t...menstruated for two months. But she might not have been, for she stopped eating about the same time, and the doctor told me that that interferes with a woman’s monthly.”
Erva knelt before him. She carefully held one of his hands, caressing his thumb’s knuckle.
“She had stopped eating?”
“She did that from time to time, especially when she and Miss June fought.”
“Was Miss June a friend of hers?”
This was what he feared to tell her. No one understood Miss June. He hadn’t at the time. But if only Erva could, then this rare bird in his chest, this hope, would fly free. He nodded. “Julia, my wife, often spoke of Miss June. After our marriage I wanted to meet the elusive friend of hers, but being in Parliament took much of my time, and whatever time I did have, I wanted to spend with my wife alone. I—you may as well know that our marriage was arranged, but I loved her. I didn’t grow to love her; I fell in love with her. She was so lovely and funny. God, you would have liked her. She would have loved you.”
“You think?”
“Julia would have adored you.” He ruefully grinned at her. “She would have been completely impressed with your pianoforte and singing talents. She could play and sing at home, but not in public, too afraid of crowds. But, oh, she would have loved to listen to you.” He stopped himself from saying that he wondered if she had, even though he didn’t believe in ghosts, didn’t believe in shadows that convinced him to talk more than he ever had, to trust.
He lost his smile as he continued. “About eight months into our marriage I noticed my wife acting, well, differently. She finally confessed to me that she and Miss June were fighting. After two more months of Julia acting more and more beside herself, full of anxiety to the point where she never slept and clawed at the walls, I’d finally had enough, and decided to hunt down this Miss June and confront the ingrate of a friend. I went to my mother-in-law who took all day putting off how to find Miss June, until finally she confessed.” Will stared into Erva’s eyes, ready for her reaction. “There was no Miss June. Miss June was not real, for, you see, my wife had hallucinations, heard voices too. My wife’s family had tried everything possible to hide that fact from me. Stupid people, I wouldn’t have cared. I loved Julia. I would have had that much more time to investigate how to remedy the many imaginary beings Julia saw.”
Erva leaned closer, held his hand tighter. “Oh my God, she was schizophrenic.”
“What? Another German word?”
“I—yes, I believe it is, but your wife had...um, dementia, delusions, right?”
“Yes,” Will caught the raspy sound of his voice, afraid he hoped for too much. So then he told her the last secret. “She—she seemed to have more and more paranoia. She kept fighting with Miss June. She thought Miss June was going to kill her, that her mother was going to kill her. She kept crying, and I—I didn’t know what to do.”
“Well, of course not, honey.”
“The doctor wanted to drill her brain, but I wouldn’t allow that. Making matters worse, Julia overheard the doctor and thought I was going to kill her. One doctor performed a bloodletting, another thought to take her to Bath, I kept trying all different tonics, except I wouldn’t let anyone drill a hole into my wife’s head. All the while, Julia’s behavior grew wilder. I fear she was pregnant. One doctor said that pregnancy would increase her mental disease. But—but—” He let out a sob, then steeled himself from such reactions. “I hadn’t made love to her in so long. However, she—her behavior—she kept trying to seduce men. I can only assume she got her way with one of them when I wasn’t watching over her.”
From kneeling in front of him, Erva crept up the couch and curled close to his side, embracing him. “Oh, Will, I’m so sorry.”
“You see, I know, no matter what anyone says, her behavior was not her. That was not her. I know my wife’s heart, and she wouldn’t have hurt me like that.”
“I don’t think she would have either.”
“So, you see, my mother-in-law, rather than let anyone know her daughter was...not well, said that she died during childbirth, rather than tell the truth that she died by hanging herself from the rafters, that I’d found her cold limp body after searching for her for hours.” A tear trekked down his face. “Rather than say a word about my beautiful wife taking her own life in our barn, my mother-in-law invented a fairy tale, where my lovely wife died while still dutiful to me, and I, the villain in the story, had betrayed Julia with a tawdry dancer.”
Erva wiped another tear from his face, and finally he faced her. In the room’s pale light, only the moon streaking through his windows, he saw silver streaks down her visage.
“Oh my dear,” he whispered.
While he tried to wipe away her tears, she caught his hand and held it to her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Will. I’m so, so sorry. I—I hope you know it wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it though?”
“No.” She shook her head stubbornly. “No, sometimes, as awful as it is, there isn’t anything we can do. You’re not at fault. You did everything you could for her.”
“I wish there was more I could have done.”
Another tear surfed down her alabaster cheek. “I know, honey, but you did the best you could.”
“That’s the second time you called me honey.”
> She smiled through her tears. “Yes.”
“I like being called honey.”
“Good.”
She took him by his shoulder and guided his head to lie on her chest. Night jasmine surrounded him, comforted him. Her breasts made excellent pillows, but he thought he’d keep that to himself. The odd thing was he felt exhausted. He should have been enthralled she had listened and not run, not judged him, and had especially not judged his beautiful Julia, whom he still protected even in her death. Further, Erva seemed to comprehend like no one ever had before. But he was mentally and bodily fatigued. He found his lids closing of their own accord, and soon enough sleep took him into a calm darkness, where he found Erva there, already holding him.
Enemy of Mine Page 19